


A Fragment of the Timestream

by Shivver



Series: A Teacher and a Housemaid [11]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s03e08-09 Human Nature/Family of Blood, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-12-22 01:23:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11956755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shivver/pseuds/Shivver
Summary: Travelling through a town in rural England with his companion Leela, the Doctor encounters an enigma.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of a story from my collection _A Teacher and a Housemaid_ , to organize them into a series rather than a single story collection.

Chafing at the restriction the long dress and wool coat placed on her movements, Leela fidgeted as she walked down the street with the Doctor, trying to loosen the cloth that was hampering her. Even her chestnut hair, which normally hung loose past her shoulders, was tied with a ribbon at the nape of her neck. She would never admit to the Doctor, though, that this was an improvement: she need no longer worry about stray locks in her face during the chaos of battle. Not that there was any chance of such glory here, in this large village of unarmed humans who barely noticed things that were going on around them as they rushed on to who knows where.

"You don't need to keep adjusting your clothes, Leela," the Doctor remarked, his tone as condescending as ever. "You appear very convincing as a native of this time and place."

"This garb is impractical. I cannot move well in it. And with so many layers of cloth, it will take me too much time to get to my dagger." She lifted her coat a bit to reveal the dress and petticoat beneath it.

"There's nothing to threaten us here, Leela. This is Norwich, a civilized city in England on Earth." He gestured at the people and vehicles passing by. "It's quite safe."

The warrior girl looked around her, but she would never allow herself to let down her guard. "From what I have seen, the places you claim are 'quite safe' rarely are. The last time you had me wear such strange clothing, we were attacked the moment we stepped out of the TARDIS."

"Ah." He nodded, tacitly acknowledging her point. "But if you remember, the city itself wasn't a threat. The danger was brought to it by a stranger, a time traveller from the future."

"And you are both a stranger and a time traveller."

Inclining his head to the side, he wagged a finger at her. "Don't get philosophical, Leela. It doesn't suit you."

"What is 'philoso...' er, 'philos...'? What is that word?"

Amused, the Doctor ignored her question. "This is the history of your people, Leela. These humans are learning to make science work for them. They don't constantly have enemies at their gate. They don't have to work every day simply to feed themselves, so they have time now for other pursuits. Art, literature, and look there, a street musician."

Vigilant as she always was for hidden threats and assessing the tactical layout of her surroundings, the savage girl cared little for observing culture, and she had to force herself to attend to what the Doctor was telling her and to look at the city and its people themselves. She immediately dismissed the street musician as irrelevant. The buildings were unremarkable: they were similar to what she had seen in London when the Doctor had taken her there at a time twenty years before this one, though this time there were strange black vines strung high on tall, straight poles, all down the street. Horse-drawn carriages of many types crawled in both directions, with individual people walking on the sidewalks dashing among the slow-moving vehicles. She did notice one interesting difference between this city and the one she had seen earlier: the occasional black metal box rattling by on wheels without horses, with people sitting inside it. They made a horrible rumbling noise and belched black smoke from their tail ends.

"The air smells of poison." Leela wrinkled her nose in a sneer.

"That it does. It comes from the engines of those cars there. It'll get much worse in the future, and humans won't learn to clean up after themselves for quite some time." Leela could see his disappointment in this facet of humanity.

"If this is what my ancestors were like, the Sevateem have evolved far past them." Unconsciously, she straightened with pride. "We discarded this evil magic long ago."

The Doctor stopped walking to turn toward her, and followed suit, looking up at him questioningly. "Technology, Leela, not magic. And it's not evil. There's good and bad. These humans are making technology work for them, to provide comfort and leisure that your people do not have, and their world is safer and less violent than yours. These people don't need to carry a weapon to survive every day. And they will learn to apply their science to preserve the natural world, too. It just takes time. Come, you must be hungry. Let me introduce you to some of their culinary arts. There are wondrous meals that can be prepared when you've more than just fire to work with."

As they strolled, the Doctor continued to point out interesting sights and explain to Leela the culture of these strange humans. She knew that the Doctor was trying to educate her (though she truly didn't know what he meant by that) and so she tried hard to understand, but she still found these worlds he took her to bewildering. All her life had been spent fighting the war against the Tesh, and to see men - of all shapes and sizes, obviously not trained warriors - walking down the street without worry, without watching their surroundings for surprise attacks was still completely alien to her. Their nonchalance caused her to be vigilant, nervous, and defensive on their behalf, and though she could not hold her weapon at the ready, her eyes continuously scanned the area for danger.

Thus, when the Doctor suddenly stopped both his stride and his sentence and stared across the street, Leela responded by hunkering into a cat-like stance, ready to spring. She followed his stare to pedestrians strolling past shops. "What is it, Doctor? What is wrong?"

"I'm sure I don't know," he murmured. His tone was both absent and intrigued. His eyes flicked to his companion. "Oh, Leela, it's nothing dangerous. Stand like a lady."

She straightened, but remained cautious. Continuing to watch both the Doctor and the other side of the street, she deduced that the Doctor was concerned with two men in long gray wool coats and black fedoras who were standing in front of a shop, gesturing at the items in the shop window and conversing; all of the other people had moved off, but he still stared in their direction. "Are those two men a threat? I shall need my knife." She began to pull her dress up to get at the scabbard on her thigh, but the Doctor stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"No, leave your knife where it is. They're not a threat, but the one on the left is rather interesting. I should…" As his words trailed off, he strode purposefully out into the street, oblivious to the horses that were pulled up short before they trampled him. Hiking up her skirts, Leela glanced at the carriage to make sure it was still stationary, then ran after him. She ignored the not-so-polite shouts that followed her.

Gaining the opposite sidewalk, the Doctor immediately addressed the men. "Excuse me. Would you happen to know if this haberdashery does good work? I find myself in need of some new trousers." He stepped between them to stare at the items in the window.

Both men turned to the man who just interrupted their conversation, and Leela watched them closely as she approached. The one on the right, a short, rotund man with closely cropped peppered hair and a jovial air about him, looked the stranger up and down, a bit put off by his odd manner of dress. The one on the left, a taller man, though not quite as tall as the Doctor, with russet hair and a narrow face, had a friendly countenance that immediately changed to shock as he spied the newcomer. His mouth dropped open for a moment, then closed as he frowned. Leela's eyes narrowed and she kept a close watch on him as his friend replied to the Doctor.

"I'm sorry but we're wondering the same as you. We're from out of town, shopping for some shirts for John here," he said, indicating his friend. Stepping back, the Doctor nodded in greeting to the taller man, who had, by this time, schooled his expression to be carefully neutral.

"A pity. It's always so difficult to find good workmanship and value, don't you think? Oh, where are my manners? I'm John Smith. Pleased to meet you." Flashing a wide smile with lots of teeth, the Doctor offered his hand to the gray-haired man.

"What an odd coincidence!" the man replied as he glanced at his friend. "You both have the same name! I'm George Andrews." George shook the proffered hand.

John offered his hand also, though his words were for his friend. "It's a very common name. I'm bound to meet someone with it rather often. A pleasure, Mr. Smith."

The Doctor glanced at John's hand. "That's probably not a good idea." Oblivious to John's affronted confusion, he turned to indicate Leela. "And let me introduce my fair companion. This is Leela." Still warily watching the thin man, she saw his tongue flick behind his teeth as he silently pronounced her name at the same time the Doctor spoke it. He seemed just as surprised as she was that he knew it.

"A very unusual name. And a very pretty one." George gave her a slight bow, and John followed suit, still discomfited.

"I am named after the greatest warrior in the history of my people," Leela replied, squaring her shoulders. She was proud of her heritage.

"A woman?" John asked. "She must have been most remarkable."

Leela bristled. "A woman may be as strong a warrior as any man. It is not brute strength that makes a warrior. It is courage and cunning and skill."

"And you have all three in spades." The Doctor continued on to the two men, ignoring her. "If you're not from here, where are you from? If I may ask."

"We're teachers at the Farringham School for Boys, about ten miles northeast of here." John glanced around at the buildings to get his bearings, then pointed in the general direction.

"Ah, locals, at least, then."

"I am," replied George. "Grew up in Cromer. John's from somewhere west, I believe."

"Nottingham, though last I was working in Birmingham. There's a city I don't miss." Leela noticed that he had recovered well. If he was still confused, he was no longer showing it.

"Nottingham?" The Doctor peered at him. "I'd have pegged you for being from much farther away."

John laughed. "Really? Not I. Grew up there, then university and teaching in Birmingham, then here. I'm not much of a traveller. I haven't even been to London, ever." He glanced over the Doctor's outfit, from the felt hat, to the puffy cravat, and down the trailing scarf. "Now you, I'd guess you were from there, but possibly having spent some time in Paris?"

"Leela and I, we're both explorers of a sort, from a long way away and going wherever the wind takes us. Always looking for the new and unusual." Both time travellers watched John carefully.

"It must be a strange wind that brings you to Norwich," remarked George.

The Doctor smiled again, his grin almost manic. "No stranger than any other. There's always something to see, anywhere you go."

John seemed to make up his mind and blurted out before he could change it, "Pray, have you been to Nottingham, or Birmingham, in your travels?"

The Doctor frowned. "Not Birmingham that I can recall. I have been to Nottingham once, quite a long time ago, when I was young. Charming town. Why do you ask?"

"You seem familiar, and I'm simply trying to place you. Though," he laughed, "I think I should remember your name quite well."

The Doctor pursed his lips in thought. "Well, I can't truthfully claim to recognise you."

"No, I suppose not." John shook his head. "I must be thinking of someone else."

"Well." The Doctor clapped his hands together. "Leela and I must be off. I wish you great fortune in your sartorial pursuits, gentlemen."

"'Sartorial'?" mused Leela. "What does this word mean, Doctor?"

"'Doctor'?" Choking on the word, John stared at the tall man in alarm.

The Doctor smiled. "I am a doctor of the sciences."

"He is a man of great wisdom," Leela averred.

"And here we were, thinking so well of ourselves as teachers, with a real man of learning in our midst." George extended his hand to the Doctor, who shook it cordially. "It was an honour to meet you, Dr. Smith."

"And you, Mr. Andrews." The Doctor nodded to the younger man. "Mr. Smith. Come along, Leela." The two travellers took their leave and crossed to the other side of the street.

Once they gained the sidewalk, the Doctor began talking as they walked. "What did you think of them, Leela?"

Leela stated immediately, "The one called George was friendly, but he lacked the focus that a warrior needs to be effective."

The Doctor's mouth curved into a smile. "You don't need to evaluate everyone against the model of a good warrior."

"That is the standard that all of the Sevateem are measured against."

He peered at her as he asked his next question. "And what about John?"

"There is something wrong with him," Leela declared.

"How so?"

"He feels wrong. He feels... he feels like he stands beside himself, that when I look at him, I should look off to the side to really see him." She stopped walking, and the Doctor also stopped and turned to listen to her. "He recognised you. When he first saw you. But he did not know you. And he knew my name, before you told him."

Nodding, the Doctor stared absently as he thought. "You are right. Something _is_ wrong with him. The timestream makes eddies around him, but they are broken."

"More magic."

He looked at her, catching her gaze before continuing. "Science, Leela. Time Lord science. The timestream of the universe encompasses everyone, but..." His eyes wandered as he thought. "He seems to exist in a fragment of the timestream, stretching back about a month and forward about a month, but broken off beyond that, like a vine chopped by a machete."

Leela glanced back toward the haberdashery. "He is dangerous, then. Shouldn't you do something about him?"

The Doctor shook his head. "He's not dangerous. He's an anomaly, but nothing more. He's not a threat to the universe or the vortex. Just a strange human anomaly."

"But how could he know you? How could he know my name?"

"There are any number of explanations for that." He waved dismissively. "For one, he might have some latent psychic ability. It's very rare in humans, but not unheard of."

Leela stepped toward him. "You know, don't you, Doctor? You know what's wrong with him."

"I do not know, Leela, but I have my suspicions. And if I am right, it is best that I leave well enough alone."

. _ . _ . _ . _ .

The delicate moments before he realised he was awake were always the most enjoyable for John. He was no longer immersed in his vivid dreams in which he was the mad explorer flying from one adventure to the next, yet he wasn't quite John Smith the schoolteacher, but instead some delicious mix of the two. To be someone else and yet yourself, to explore the world without stepping foot out of your bedroom: that was just enough of a taste of an exciting life for him. He was content with his life at this school, in this tiny village - a bland life, some might say - but with just a touch of spice added by his dreams.

Half a minute more, and he was staring up at the ceiling, the dream slowly retreating back into the night. Eager to catch what was left of it, he sprang up from the bed and threw on his dressing gown, then pulled his journal from his desk drawer. Riffling through it to find a blank page, he spotted something among the scribbles and drawings, and he flipped back a few leaves. His breath caught as he saw the impossible: the face of the man he had met yesterday among the sketches of the ten men that haunted his dreams. John's own face was there, too, but he'd always assumed that these sketches, made hastily as he tried to capture the fleeting images upon awakening every morning, were of the different characters he'd dreamed he'd been, all called "the Doctor."

John collapsed back in his chair and clapped his hand to his mouth as his mind whirled. _How could this be? How could this "Doctor" in my dreams be walking down the streets of Norwich? I thought_ I _was the "Doctor" in the dreams. Who was that man?_

 _Doctor._ The woman, Leela, had called the man "Doctor". _Of course she would_ , he chided himself. _He's a doctor. What else would she call him?_ He couldn't admit to himself that as a friend and travelling companion, and not a student, colleague or patient, she shouldn't be addressing him by a title. And the woman herself, she'd been in his dreams, too, though only a handful of times.

Propping his elbows on the desk, he buried his face in his hands. That encounter had disturbed him, and he realised now that he'd tried very hard to forget it, to ignore the puzzles it created. Though it always seemed to him that having such dreams was unusual, they didn't bother him, but now they were walking in broad daylight. It was impossible. _I must be remembering Dr. Smith incorrectly. The man in my dreams couldn't possibly look that much like him. I think. Am I going mad?_

A knock on the door jolted him back to the present, and he called, "Enter." He looked up to see his maid, Martha, entering with his breakfast and the morning newspaper. She saw the confusion in his eyes and that he had been leaning on the desk, and she stopped short.

"Are you all right, Mr. Smith? What's wrong?"

He straightened and smiled at her before answering. "Oh, nothing really, Martha. Just worrying about nothing." His attempt to be cheerful and flippant fell flat.

"I can always tell when you're hiding something, sir." She approached and set the tray on the corner of his desk. "Something's happened."

He leaned back and bit his lip. "It was nothing. I met a man in town yesterday, and he looked just like one of the people I see in my dreams. A bit startling, to be honest, but no great matter."

Martha stared at him, mouth agape. "You met a man from your dreams, sir?"

Coming from her, the idea sounded completely absurd. "Well, of course not, not really. He just looked uncannily like him." He reached his long arm out to tap the sketch in the journal. "This one here."

Martha glanced over at it. "Who is that?"

"The Doctor."

The maid frowned, confused. "But, sir, in your dreams, _you're_ the Doctor."

"Yes."

She pointed at the sketch of himself. "That one's you, sir. Not the other one."

"Right, Martha. But he's also the Doctor."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're him in your dreams, sir?"

"Sometimes. In different dreams, I'm all of these." John waved his hand over the ten sketches on the page.

Martha opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, then stared at the page again. "Oh, sir, I don't pretend to understand any of it. But never you mind about it. Look at all these pictures, sir. They're all so different. You're bound to meet people who look like one or two of them sometime. My mum had a word for it, when you see things you thought you saw before…"

"Deja vu? Perhaps that's it. Perhaps I saw this drawing today and it reminded me of the man I met. Well, whatever the cause, there's no use dwelling on it, is there?" He stood up to slide his breakfast to himself.

"Just what I say, sir." Glancing one last time at the journal page, Martha turned to start making up the bed.

John was not quite satisfied with the explanation, but as he could not provide one of his own, he tried his best to ignore the incident and its implications. If something like it happened again, he would consider it further, but for now, he had his work to get on with, and he thought about it no more.


	2. Chapter 2

As she stepped from the carriage, Martha glanced up at the bleak October sky, expecting heavy drops to come splatting down any moment. Pulling her coat closer around herself, she called a thank-you to the driver and was not surprised to receive no reply; he had already shown his disdain for the dark-skinned servant when he collected her fare at the beginning of the trip and left her to open her own door and climb in herself. Looking around, she started walking in the direction she thought was the center of town, keeping tabs on the location of the post so that she could get back here in time to hire the carriage back to Farringham.

Yesterday, Mr. Smith had mentioned that during his excursion into Norwich, he had met a man that not only looked like someone from his dreams, but looked like a person he had been in his dreams. Though the schoolteacher had been disturbed by the encounter, he had no real reason to believe that it was more than just a coincidence, and Martha had encouraged him to ignore it, not worry about it. But she knew better. The dreams he'd been having were real memories of the life he had hidden away and forgotten about, and if someone from that life was walking about town, he could be a threat. He could blow Mr. Smith's cover, or he could attract the Family to the area, or worse yet, he could be one of the Family.

Thus, Martha had traded days off with Jenny and dressed so that she didn't look like a maid and wasn't easily associated with the school. From Emily, she'd borrowed a hat with one of those black veils she could pull down around her face, in case she'd needed to conceal her identity. Then she had caught the post to Norwich, to search for this mystery man. She knew what he looked liked from his drawing in Mr. Smith's journal - a man with a wide face and a mass of dark curls - and Mr. Smith had once mentioned that he was tall and wore a long, multicolored scarf. Hopefully that would be enough to go on. 

What she didn't understand was how this man fit into Mr. Smith's dreams or his real life. He always dreamed that he was the Doctor, but sometimes when he dreamed he was the Doctor, he was this man, someone completely different. Of course Mr. Smith really was the Doctor, and had always referred to himself as "the Doctor" as if it was his name, but the existence of this other Doctor, whether dream or real, made it sound more like a title that the mystery man bore as well. Where did they get this title? Was it a Time Lord thing? Does that make this man another Time Lord? The Doctor would certainly want to know if there was another Time Lord existent in the universe, as he believed he was the only one left. But if this man was a Time Lord, would the Family be attracted here by him? She resisted the urge to groan in frustration as she walked. The Doctor never told her everything she needed to know.

Though she knew it was a long shot that she would encounter the man in the city (as she was convinced that even if he wasn't an alien, he was some type of advanced human and probably had already left the area and the time zone), she became increasingly disheartened as she walked the streets for one, then two, then three hours. She kept her eyes on the people she passed and peered into shop windows, and houses when it wasn't too difficult to see, looking for anyone unusual, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary. She stopped for a quick lunch, first because she was famished and second because it gave her a little time to reconsider her search strategy. Strolling among the most populated commercial districts of Norwich hadn't produced any results, so maybe it was time to walk among the dirtier industrial parts of the city, or the residential areas. 

It took Martha a bit more time to get used to the factory district. Its narrower streets and similar, undecorated buildings made it more difficult for her to tell where she was, and she spent more time memorising street names and directions than she had before. Though Norwich wasn't a major industrial city, there were a few factories belching black clouds from their smokestacks, giving everything a gray pallor beyond that of the overcast day. Martha lowered her veil, feeling very exposed. Though the streets were busy with lorries and carriages ferrying cargo and businessmen, pedestrians were limited to workers, none of which were female. She suspected that the women were inside the factories, on the assembly lines.

Thus, the sight of a lone female rushing from a factory across the street into a warehouse piqued her interest. She was coatless, and the style of her deep blue dress indicated that she wasn't a worker; perhaps an owner's wife or daughter. However, what really caught Martha's eye was the woman's movements. As she ran, she had hiked her skirts up far higher than was necessary to keep her from tripping over her hem: Martha caught a flash of her knees. More than that, though: she was athletic, her body graceful and powerful. She was so out-of-place for 1913 that Martha had to investigate. Once the woman had disappeared into the building, the maid crossed the street, walking slowly to not attract attention, and slipped into the same warehouse door.

She found herself in a small office, bare of ornamentation and its wooden furniture stacked with papers and record books. The door into the main part of the warehouse stood open, and Martha could hear indistinct voices emanating from deep within the building. Pausing for a bit to let her eyes adjust to the diminished light, she crept to it to look and listen.

The door opened onto a short flight of stairs that led down to the warehouse floor. Most of the warehouse consisted of many aisles of massive shelving, stacked with crates and containers, but the center, the only part with adequate lighting, was clear. Beneath the main electric lamp that depended from the ceiling was the man who was unmistakably Martha's quarry, very tall with dark curly hair and a wide face, wearing a long tweed coat, a floppy felt hat, and a striped scarf that trailed the ground even though it was draped twice about his neck. Behind him was a man holding a gun pointing at his back. Opposite him, a young man with closely cropped blond hair and a handsome narrow face leaned against a stack of pallets. Dressed in an expensive, immaculate suit, he regarded the tall man with a sneering smile.

"And that's what this is all about?" asked the man in the scarf, his clear, strident voice echoing. "A get-rich-quick scheme of bringing future technology to humans a hundred years early? I must say, Carter, that's rather disappointing. I had hoped that you had some ambition. Take over the world, build a spaceship to invade other planets, corner the market on pomegranates, that kind of thing.”

“It’s hardly a quick scheme. I’ll have to slowly release things, so it doesn’t look too suspicious, and it will take quite a bit of time and work. Can’t have a 1913 schoolboy carrying an iPod around, now can we? 1933, maybe.” Carter shrugged, clearly not considering his captive any threat. “It’s insurance, you see. Humans get to evolve just a tiny bit faster, while my family, my future family, gets to live comfortably and well. That’s all I’m after. Win-win, I’d say.”

“It always appears as win-win to the person doing the winning. I can’t allow this, you know.” 

Martha grinned. This Doctor sounded exactly like her Doctor, perfectly confident in his ability to stop any threat.

“And who the bloody hell are you to make that decision?” Carter shrugged. “Not like you can stop me.” He glanced at the man with the gun. “Goss, take care of him.” He jerked his head at the Doctor.

A blur of blue dashed out from the shelves behind Goss and tackled him, and a shot rang out. Both the Doctor and Carter watched as the woman in blue wrestled the man to the ground, then knocked him hard in the face. His gun clattered on the cement floor. The Doctor called out, “Leela, that's quite enough. He’s unconscious. Let him be.”

Kneeling over the man, the woman named Leela pulled her dress up and unsheathed the knife in the scabbard attached to her leg. She glared at Carter. “Your plans cannot be allowed to proceed. I shall stop you.”

"Put the knife away, Leela. There's no need for that." As the Doctor turned back towards Carter, Leela rose to her feet, her knife still in her hand. "It's over, Carter. Time to give it up and return to your own time."

"Oh, I don't think so." He pushed his sleeve back to reveal a device on his arm like a very large wristwatch mounted on a thick leather band. "I'll just set up shop sometime else. You might be able to find me, but next time, I'll make sure you can't interfere." 

He began pressing buttons on the device. Before Martha could even think of what she could do to help, Leela sprang toward him, her knife raised, but the Doctor pulled her back. "No, no violence. Let him go."

Martha burst through the door and, holding her hands in front of her like she had a gun, screamed, "Don't move or I'll shoot!" Carter whirled on her while Leela ducked and rolled behind some shelving, but the Doctor dashed to Carter and punched about four buttons on his device at once. As he stepped back from the blond man, Carter gasped with a panicked look on his face. Blue energy coruscated over his body and he disappeared.

"Splendid!" the Doctor cried before turning to Martha. "And who are you?" Martha saw Leela creeping around the shelving to get a tactical advantage on her, but the Doctor noticed her as well. "Leela. Behave now. Let’s greet our new acquaintance peacefully."

The maid straightened, holding her hands up. "I don't really have a gun. I just wanted to distract him for you."

The Doctor bowed. "I thank you for the diversion. It was just what I needed."

Martha pointed at the spot Carter had been standing in a moment before. "But he got away."

"Oh, no. Quite the opposite, in fact.” The Doctor paced around the spot, investigating the lack of a man standing there. “I really only had time to hit the emergency shutdown function on the vortex manipulator. However, the first thing it does at shutdown is warp back to headquarters.” He stopped and held his arms wide, grinning in triumph. “A man with a shut-down stolen manipulator sitting in the middle of the Time Agency headquarters. I doubt he'll be able to talk his way out of that one." He glanced at the warrior woman. "You see, Leela, she is not an enemy."

"No, I'm not,” Martha hastened to confirm. “I'm looking for you."

"Are you now?” The Doctor seemed amused. “Are you quite sure?"

Martha straightened, holding her head high. "Oh, I'm sure, Doctor."

The Doctor eyed her with interest. "How did you find me?”

She shrugged. “I walked around town for a bit. Then I thought, look for trouble.”

“That was a wise plan,” complimented Leela. “The Doctor is skilled at finding conflict.”

The Doctor flashed another toothy grin. “Well, you seem to have found me. Why don’t you come down here, where I can see you properly?”

Martha trotted down the stairs and walked up to the Doctor, while Leela emerged from her shadow. She still held the knife in her hand, but down at her side, not at the ready.

“Ah, there.” The Doctor nodded at the maid. “I am the Doctor, and this is Leela. And you are?”

“I can’t say. It’s really best if I don’t identify myself. Or take this off.” She tugged at the veil over her face.

“You will identify yourself when the Doctor asks,” Leela cut in, taking a step toward Martha.

“It’s all right, Leela. I have a feeling she has a very good reason for concealing her identity.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a white paper bag, which he opened and held out. “Would you like a jelly baby?” 

“Uh, sure. Thanks.” She picked a random one out and popped it in her mouth.

“Well. What can I do for you?” He offered a sweet to Leela, who declined, then selected one for himself.

“I’ve come to ask you, are you a Time Lord?”

“Yes, in fact, I am.” He dropped the bag of of jelly babies into his pocket.

Martha squared her shoulders with confidence before continuing. “Then, well, I know this sounds really presumptuous, but I need to ask you to leave this area and time zone.”

“Why do you need us to leave?”

Martha shook her head. “I can’t say.”

“Come now. You can’t expect us to leave just on your recommendation alone.”

Martha sighed. “Look, it’s really for your own safety. There are some aliens that are hunting Time Lords. I don’t know why and I don’t know how, but they can find you, and we really don’t want them coming here.”

“If you are being hunted,” Leela stated, “it would be wise to set up a defensive perimeter. Perhaps it would be best if the Doctor were to join you, to lure your enemy to one prepared spot, so that a counterattack will be focused and effective.”

The Doctor placed a hand on his companion’s shoulder. “Leela, aliens who can track a Time Lord would likely have technology to lay waste to this entire countryside. Our friend is trying to avoid them even coming here.”

Martha nodded. "That's why I'm wearing this veil. I can't take the chance of the aliens seeing me and being able to identify me, and trace me back to where we’re hiding."

"Quite right.” The Doctor gazed at Martha, thumbing his chin. “From your manner, I can tell that you're not from this time zone. Perhaps a hundred years from now, I'd say. Am I correct?"

The maid was impressed. "Almost spot on."

"How did you get here, then? Are you travelling with me?"

Martha frowned at the odd question. How could she be travelling with someone she just met? "What? Is that an invitation? I'm already travelling with a Doctor."

"Yes, of course you are. I already figured that... Oh.” The Doctor paused a moment, comprehension dawning on his face. “Oh, I see. You're travelling with your Doctor. I understand."

Martha could tell she was missing something, but she had no idea what, so she returned to her objective. "And he's very afraid of these aliens. You really do need to leave this place. It's dangerous."

"Yes, I see. We really should.” The Doctor whirled and began inspecting the items on the shelves around them. “We've just a bit here to clean up, get the future tech removed and all that, and then we'll be gone.''

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, this won’t take too long. Carter hadn’t gotten really set up yet.” He spun towards Martha again. “You should head back home.”

Martha smiled with relief. "Thank you very much. I'm so glad you understand."

"I do. And please,” he stepped forward and offered his hand, “relay to your Doctor my warmest regards."

Martha shook the Doctor’s hand. "Are you the only other Doctor? Would he know who they're from?"

"Oh, there are others, yes, but he'll be able to figure it out, I'm sure."

“All right.” She stepped back. “Okay. I should go. Nice to meet you, Leela.”

Leela glanced at the Doctor, then replied with some awkwardness, “It was ‘nice’ to meet you, too, mystery woman.”

Martha bobbed a curtsey out of recent habit and retreated out the door she entered through.

. _ . _ . _ . _ .

“I think it’s time I took you to a more technologically advanced time, Leela. You need to see that technology is not a bad thing. It’s not at all what the Tesh made it out to be to the Sevateem.” The Doctor began inputting coordinates into the TARDIS console.

“The mystery woman. You said that she came from nearly one hundred years in the future of this time. Can you take me there?” 

The Doctor turned to Leela, smiling. “I am impressed! You’re showing more interest in learning about your past. That sounds like as good a destination as any. Let’s see how Norwich has changed. Norwich, 2013.” He continued working to send the TARDIS into flight.

“Doctor? What do you think they are, that are hunting Time Lords? There must be some way to fight them.” As a reflex, she grabbed at her skirt to reassure herself that her dagger was there.

“I’m sure there is, Leela, but whatever they are, the other Doctor chose not to do so. There must be a good reason for that.”

“Who is this other Doctor? Are there many Doctors?”

He turned away from Leela, fixing his gaze on the monitor. “At least five of us, yes.”

“I should like to meet them.”

“It’s best we don’t. There are rules…” He turned back to her and smiled, all teeth. “Don’t worry yourself about them, Leela.”

“I am not worried. I am curious.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps you will meet them someday. For now, it’s time to change into some clothing appropriate for the twenty-first century. You’ll find them a lot more practical, though you won’t be able to carry your weapon.”

“I shall find a way to wear my knife, Doctor.”

“I’m sure you will.”

. _ . _ . _ . _ .

When the voice in the room called, “Come in!” Martha nudged the door open, carrying a small basket filled with fruit. Mr. Smith was sitting in an armchair, reading, and as she entered his study, she curtsied to him.

“Good evening, sir. The kitchen received some crates of apples and grapes today, and I thought you might like some.” She brought the basket to him, offering him its contents. 

“Oh, excellent!” He leaned forward and chose an apple, then took a bite. “Delicious! Thank you, Martha.” As she turned to deposit the basket on his desk, he continued speaking. “I thought you had taken the day off?”

The maid moved on to his bed and began turning it down. “I returned early, sir, so I thought I would finish out the day.”

“You should be out enjoying your leisure. I can endure without you for one night, you know.” Mr. Smith winked at her.

Martha ducked her head, embarrassed. “Jenny was so nice to take my shift today, sir. I wanted to come back and let her have the rest of the day.” Finished with the bed, she started tidying his desk.

“You’re very kind, Martha. I hope you enjoyed your holiday.”

“I did, sir. I travelled into town, to take care of some things. Got it all done, too, sir. Made me feel quite a bit better, it did.” She set the last sheaf of papers in the center of the desk and tapped it with a flair of satisfaction.

Mr. Smith smiled. “That’s good to hear. It’s always a wonderful feeling, accomplishing something important.”

“That it is, sir. Did you want a warming pan tonight, sir?” she asked as she checked the fire, which was adequately built up.

He shook his head. “Oh, it’s not that cold yet. Not for another month, I’d say.”

“Very good, sir. Will that be all?” Turning to face him, she gazed at him as she awaited his reply. Comfortable in his chair with his book, he seemed secure and content.

“Yes. Thank you, Martha. Have a good night.” As she curtsied and turned towards the door, he returned to his reading.

“Sweet dreams, sir.” Taking one last look at the schoolteacher, Martha withdrew from his apartments and closed the door.


End file.
